


Peace Offering

by profanedaisychain



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Other, POV Second Person, Pointless, julia is that friend we all wish we had while still being thankful we don't, spoilers for Retribution open alpha, unspecified gender Sidestep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profanedaisychain/pseuds/profanedaisychain
Summary: Sidestep goes out of their comfort zone to make Argent smile; Julia accidentally gets in the way.
Relationships: Julia Ortega & Sidestep, mentioned prior relationship: Julia Ortega/Sidestep, mentioned romantic relationship: Lady Argent/Sidestep
Kudos: 14





	Peace Offering

* * *

  
The Rangers’ headquarters is quiet today, not even bustling. It's a surprising change of pace - usually when you stop in, you have to greet at least four somewhat-familiar faces. But not today. Today, the coldly beautiful lobby is blessedly silent. 

“Is Lady Argent in?” you ask before the receptionist can assume you’re here for Herald’s training. 

“You just missed her,” the woman -Anna?- apologetically smiles (a quick prod of her mind confirms the name - now to see if it sticks in your memory this time), “Did you want to leave that for her?”

You do your best not to flinch, the little box under your arm suddenly very, very heavy. The white cardboard makes a slight scraping noise as you try to adjust it away, to keep the label hidden. Too personal. Too embarrassing. Christ, why did you think this was a good idea? “I...no, that’s fine. I’ll just-”

“Who are you here to distract this time?”

You flinch, hating yourself for it, and turn around. You don't know how Chen manages to sneak up on you so often - or how he manages to find you at your most distracted. 

“Hi,” you greet, expression frozen somewhere between a forced smile and a grimace.

He looks relaxed, which is something you’re still getting used to. “What brings you by?”

The question still raises your hackles, but you've gotten better at not lashing out. You’d curse Spoon for the new soft spot, but you love the noodle-dog too much for that. “I was just checking if Argent was around.”

“She just left.”

“So I was told,” you reply, being sure to toss a little smile to the receptionist. You have a facade to maintain in this building - humble, polite; a little twitchy, but an overall positive presence. Anna grins, returning to her computer screen to feign privacy.

Chen doesn’t glance at the box, but he notices it. He’s curious. Tempted to ask, but doesn’t want to push too much; it’s hard to know how you might react at any given time. Are you volatile today? Too tired to put up a fight? Sardonic, self-deprecating, surprisingly open?

“Do you want to leave that on her desk?” Chen finally offers.

“And have literally everyone snoop?”

“Is it something worth snooping on?”

“No,” you answer too quickly. Damn him. 

Chen almost smiles, light amusement sparking in his calm mind. “She’s making her rounds. She should be back in a couple of hours if you want to come back.”

“Scared to leave me in your break room for that long?” You're teasing. Mostly.

He looks at you with that soft, carefully curious look that is so new but seems so familiar anyway. “Do you _want_ to sit in the break room for hours?”

“No,” you admit, a crooked smirk tilting your lips. After a brief moment of contemplation, you offer the box to Chen. “Put it in the fridge for me?” 

"The fridge," he repeats, glancing down at the package in his hands. _Argent_ is written across the top of it - gorgeously so. You feel a little spike of pride when you sense Chen’s admiration. The flowing script is smooth and cultured, just like the speech pattern that got ingrained into you when your training began.

“Was there anything else?” he asks, almost as if he’s trying to get you to say something in particular. 

You have no idea what it might be, so you shrug, hands retreating into your jacket pockets. “Nope, just the box. No peeking,” you remind him with a small smile. He returns it, which makes yours widen. You aren't quite sure what your relationship is, but it’s nice. Weird - _super_ weird- but nice.

You duck out of the building. The box of homemade cookies was light, but it still feels like a boulder has been lifted. It’s out of your hands now, thrust into the universe. Whatever happens, happens. If Argent doesn't like the gesture, then at least you won't be in the room to find out.  
  


* * *

  
You stay at your tech store past closing, bidding Marcia a quiet goodbye before locking things up. The security system switches to after-hours mode, the monitors in your hidden workshop assuring you that nothing odd is happening.

Now your real job can commence. There’s always work to do when you’re trying to root out corruption in government. Always a new face to target or acquire as an ally. You sort through the notes you took at home last night, a smile sliding onto your lips. Being a villain is a rush nothing can compare to, but the behind-the-scenes research makes the tactician in you drool. 

Your phone buzzes when you're halfway through a junior congressional aide's profile. He’s young, new on the job, and idealistic - an excellent place to start. Frowning, you lower the volume of the music flooding through the room, checking your phone. 

Ortega. Of course. But this message catches your eye, makes you consider responding.

_I am making your favourite dinner and I have that wine from France_

_There are a lot of wines from France  
_ _It's one of their Things_

 _The pink one with the stupid name and the horse on the label  
_ _The one you refuse to admit you like_

_I don’t drink pink wine, you’re confused_

_Hah. Come over?_

_What’s the occasion_

_Chen said you stopped by  
_ _Just thought you might want some company_

_That doesn’t sound like me_

_Alright, fine  
_ _But  
_ _I have gossip you might be interested in_

You were ready to deny her offer flat-out, but the woman knows how to intrigue. _I'm finishing up some stuff at work. Give me an hour._ After a hesitation, you add, _Need_ _anything?_

_I never thought I'd see the day when you offered to go shopping for me_

_It was just a question don’t be a dick about it_

_I'm on my way to the store so you're spared this time  
_ _And thank you_

 _Whatever  
_ _See you in a bit  
  
_

* * *

  
When Julia opens the door, but before she can so much as welcome you, you scrunch your nose in distaste. “Why are you wearing that?”

 _That_ being slacks and a nice blouse, thin and gorgeous. That shirt probably cost more than a month of rent on your storefront. Not that money is an issue now - defrauding the filthy rich is quite lucrative.

“Maybe I dressed up for you?”

“You never dress up for me because you know I’ll make fun of you," you reply, slipping inside. Your narrowed eyes stay on Julia even while you remove your shoes.

"True,” she admits with a stupid grin. “I just got home. Haven’t managed to get changed yet.”

“So you haven’t started dinner?” you assume. Assume correctly, based on her expression. “You’re the worst. I’m starving.”

“Good thing I picked up that wine, then - you can drink and complain while I cook.”

Snorting in response, you head to the kitchen. Ingredients fill canvas totes on the countertop - two wine bottles peek out from one of them, which you beeline for. The bottles are chilled, thank Christ, so you start opening one without prompting. 

“So, what’s the gossip?” you ask when Julia joins you, now without the nice shirt. “Must be good if it has you cooking me dinner in the middle of the week.”

“Feeding you is the only way I can get you to hang out with me."

That's more true than you want to admit, so you sidestep. "Gossip?"

"Patience," she scolds, tossing a smirk your way. "Gossip is for post-dinner drinking. Right now, we're having dinner and hanging out."

You narrow your eyes but bite your tongue. It’s never any use pressing until Julia is ready for her reveal. Might as well enjoy the company and wine until she pisses you off.

As usual.  
  


* * *

  
"So," Julia drawls, "I _may_ have had an ulterior motive for asking you over..."

"Here it comes,” you mumble - good-naturedly, though, because you're full of food and warm from the wine. Julia might as well benefit from the good mood while it lasts. "Let me guess - it has something to do with this gossip you coerced me with?"

"You know me too well." She looks relaxed, leaning against her corner of the sofa. “And since you know me so well...you can probably figure out where this is going.”

You purse your lips; that look on her face is less than innocent. "What did you do?"

“I may have snooped on something I wasn’t supposed to.”

You groan, head flopping onto the backrest, eyes closed. Of course. The cookies. “Seriously?”

 _"_ 'Seriously' _me_? Since when do you bake?"

“I don’t,” you mutter, grabbing a coaster and half-heartedly tossing it at Julia. 

It hits; she grunts and then chuckles, rubbing the spot of impact. "I forgot how nice your handwriting is. Definitely thought it was a bakery label." She pauses, her smile widening. "I never thought I'd see the day you willingly used a stove."

You roll your eyes toward the ceiling again, trying your best not to huff. Huffing would just make Julia grin and feel like she'd won something. "They're just cookies, Sparkles. Get over yourself."

"You never made me cookies when we dated."

"We didn't date," you snip, the words automatic. And then you quickly add, "Argent and I aren't dating, either." Her smirk widens; you know a frustrated flush has raised on your cheeks.

"Stop being so dramatic," Julia, Queen of Drama, dares to say. In a gentler tone, she adds, "It was a sweet thing to do."

Christ, this embarrassment could crush you. "Julia Ortega, you are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. I don't know why I ever made out with you."

"Yeah you do," she winks. She softens, though, and murmurs, "I kinda forgot what that side of you looked like."

"What are you rambling about?"

"You. Being nice. Going out of your way to make someone smile."

"You're reading into things. Like you always do."

"Me? Never," she snorts, tossing the coaster at you. You catch it without a second thought, returning it to the coffee table.

"I have a confession to make, though," Julia continues. She’s still amused, but there’s some sheepishness, too. "I ate the cookies."

"You…" You are tempted to grab the coaster and bash it into her head. " _All_ of them?"

"I had every intention of leaving four-"

" _Four_? There were ten!"

"Herald might have had a few of them before we realised it was from you, and at that point...it would have been rude to leave only three."

Your cheeks are burning - you can't decide if it's more out of anger or mortification. "Unbelievable."

"We had just gotten back from a mission!" she defends. "And Angie swipes our food all the time."

You try to be pissed, but it's always been impossible to stay mad at Julia Ortega. "You are such an asshole," you settle on.

"I'll make it up to you."

"You'd better."

"Name your price."

You think about it, think about all of the ways you can get back at her. But then you think of all the times you've landed her and your friends (Christ... _your_ friends) in the hospital. You keep your expression composed, but your insides have gone sour. "Five extravagant dinners."

"Five dinners?" she repeats. She sounds bemused; she sounds as if dinner isn't any trouble at all, not even worth the request.

"One for each hour of my life it took to learn how to make those stupid cookies."

Julia grins. "Deal.” She pauses, mulling. “I could help you make another batch?”

“Like I’m going to go through that effort again just to have you jerks eat them all.”

Julia’s smile is too soft, too supportive. You hate how much you want this - this camaraderie. This belonging. "You could always deliver them to her and not risk leaving them in the fridge.”

“Or you all could respect the shelf labels?"

“You’re one to talk - don’t think I haven’t noticed beers go missing when you come around.”

“Well, that’s different." You hide your smile behind a sip. “I don’t have to respect the shelves - I’m not a Ranger.” 

It’s the wrong topic to bring up because it rekindles a familiar look on Julia’s face. It’s the little twitch she gets before asking you to think about getting back into the game. _You’re already helping me with Hollow Ground,_ it says. _You're training Herald. Why not take the final leap?_

“Don’t,” you warn. “I’m already annoyed with you. Don’t push.”

“Sure thing,” she smiles, letting it go. 

She's learning.  
  


* * *


End file.
